


Truth Or CONsequences

by Ashley5627



Category: White Collar
Genre: Beating, Concussions, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt Neal, Hurt/Comfort, Infection, Temporary Amnesia, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 02:25:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5894479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashley5627/pseuds/Ashley5627
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal comes in on Monday morning looking like he managed to get himself into a fight. He denies that anything is wrong, of course, but Peter is determined to get to the bottom of it. Neal!Whump. Beta'd!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank 'Larura' for beta-ing my story. Thank you Larura!

Peter watched from his office on Monday morning as Neal walked into the FBI White Collar Unit on the 21st floor, right on time. He did not seem to look as cheerful or lively as he usually did. It was subtle though, and only someone who had known him for years would have been able to tell. Of course, that someone was Peter. He could always tell if the young man was hiding something or was off his game.

Before Neal could sit down at his desk, Peter gave him the double finger point from the top of the stairs before heading back into his office.

As Peter watched Neal make his way to his office, he could see a slight limp in his walk and noticed how he subtlety hugged his stomach with one arm.

"What's up, Peter?" Neal asked with a smile as he carefully sat down on one of the chairs in front of Peter's desk.

Peter noticed that Neal's hat was pulled way down over his head. He could barely see his right eye. "Take off your hat, Neal."

"Why?" Neal asked innocently.

"I can't see your face. I can't talk to you if I can't see you."

"You're talking to me right now," Neal said, like his logic made complete sense.

"Neal..." Peter said in his warning tone that usually got Neal to do as he was told.

Neal sighed in annoyance and reluctantly took off his hat. Peter could now see a nasty purple bruise over his right eye.

"What happened?" Peter asked as he gestured to Neal's face.

Neal looked at him with confusion. "Huh?" he said, then seemed to understand as he put a hand over his eye. "Oh, that. Ran into a door," he said with a shrug and a 'what can you do?' expression on his face.

Peter looked at him, disbelieving the tale that Neal was spinning. "A door," he said in a monotone voice.

"Yeah," Neal nodded. "I didn't notice that it shut, then _'wham,'_ " he said as he smacked his hands together to demonstrate the apparent collision.

"Is that really the story you're going to stick with?" Peter asked as he leaned forward with his elbows on his desk and interlocked his fingers.

"It's not a story, it's the truth." Neal looked annoyed that Peter didn't believe him.

"Did the 'door' run into your leg, too?"

"No," Neal said slowly with a confused look on his face.

"You were limping," Peter explained.

"Oh, my new shoes haven't broken in yet," Neal said, as if it explained everything.

"So that's why you're limping? Your shoes are uncomfortable?" Peter said, not believing any of this ridiculous story.

"Yes, my feet hurt," Neal said, looking angry and annoyed. "Are you done interrogating me about how I walk and what I wear, or can I get to work?"

Peter sighed. "Well, whenever you want to tell me, I'm here."

That seemed to get through to Neal a little. He nodded. "Yeah, okay," he said as he got up and left.

'That was strange,' Peter thought to himself. 'Did something happen to Neal? Why did he not think he could tell me? Was he doing something illegal?' Peter scoffed at his last mental question. 'Probably.'

Peter decided to wait Neal out and see if he'd come and talk to him. If that didn't work, he'd corner him and force him to tell him what happened. Yup, seemed like a plan.

Throughout the day Neal looked more and more miserable. He kept rubbing his temples like he had a headache when he thought no one was looking, and Peter saw that when he moved too quickly or stretched too far he couldn't help but wince. Something was wrong, but Neal was being as stubborn, as always, and wasn't going to tell him.

At about 3 p.m., Peter was making his way down the hall and to the bathroom. When he opened the door to the bathroom he saw Neal with no shirt on in front of the sink. The action would have been confusing if not for the dark bruises all over his abdomen and a long, painful looking cut along his left side that seemed to be bleeding a little. "Neal?"

The moment Peter came in Neal looked up at him through the mirror, looking to all the world like a kid that just got caught stealing cookies out of the cookie jar. "It's not what it looks like?" Neal offered meekly.

Peter didn't really know what to ask first, so he just settled on, "What happened?"

"If it helps, I thought I locked the door."

"The lock's broken. And no, it doesn't."

"Oh - you should get that fixed," Neal said and wiped at the blood from the cut going down his side with a paper towel.

"Here, let me help," Peter said as he came over a grabbed the paper towel from Neal's hand, then started cleaning around the wound, trying to ignore the hisses of pain from Neal. The wound didn't look deep, but it looked like it might be infected, though Peter couldn't be sure. "You still didn't answer my question," Peter said offhandedly.

"What was it again? I forgot."

Peter tried not to roll his eyes. Neal knew what the question was, he was just stalling. "What happened? And don't tell me your scissors attacked you while you were cutting something."

"No, not scissors. A knife."

"Ok. How did the knife cut you?"

"A guy swung it at me."

Peter sighed. Neal was not going to make this easy. "What was the guy's name?"

"I didn't stop to ask. Ow!" Neal said as Peter got too close to the wound.

"Sorry. Where were you?" Peter asked.

"In my two mile radius, as always," Neal replied. Smart-ass.

Peter stopped cleaning the blood and looked Neal in the eyes. "That's enough, we're going to the hospital, then you're going to tell me everything."

Neal backed up a step. "I'm not going to the hospital; I'm fine." He backed up another step, but his leg gave out under him. He would have fallen if Peter hadn't grabbed him under the arms and lowered him slowly to the floor, leaning him against the bathroom stall.

"Yeah, you're fine," Peter said sarcastically. "What's wrong with your leg?"

"New shoes?" He answered meekly again.

"Bull," Peter replied and reached for Neal's belt, but Neal stopped him.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. You haven't bought me dinner yet, mister," Neal said with a sly grin.

Peter shook his head and tried not to smirk. "I need to see what's wrong with your leg. I'm not trying to get fresh."

"Good, because I don't know what Elizabeth would think," Neal said in a serious tone. "I mean, we would tell her, right? I don't think we could keep that a secret very long," he said with a wink.

Peter pointed a finger at Neal. "I would not cheat on my wife."

"So we would tell her."

"No, we wouldn't," Peter said and held up his hand before Neal could say something. "There would be nothing to say. There is nothing to say."

Neal nodded in understanding and took Peter's hand. "It's ok, we can still be friends," Neal said with such a serious look on his face that it almost seemed like he was telling him the truth, but then he smiled that million dollar smile that wooed countless women and annoyed one FBI agent to no end.

Peter shook his head and reached for Neal's belt again, but he was intercepted again. "I can get my own pants off, thank you very much," Neal said, but made no move to do so.

"Are you going to show me your ability to remove your pants, or I'm going have to get involved again?"

"You really want me to take my pants off, don't you?" Neal said with a mischievous smile.

Peter shook his head. "I just need to see what we're dealing with here."

"It's just a bruise," Neal explained.

Peter decided to try a different tactic, seeing as how the one he was trying was getting nowhere. "How did you get the bruise?"

Neal muttered something under his breath that Peter couldn't hear.

"What was that?"

"A baseball bat," Neal said quietly.

Peter's eyes widened at that. "A baseball bat? What did you do to make someone so angry that they would take a knife and a bat to you?" Peter asked, almost yelling now.

"What makes you think it was my fault?" Neal replied automatically.

Peter just gave him a look that said 'because I know who I'm talking to'.

"You can believe it or not, Peter, but it wasn't my fault this time."

"I think I'll need a little more evidence than you're opinion with this."

A hurt look flashed across Neal's face for a second. "Trust but verify?" he said softly.

Peter nodded. "Yeah, something like that." After a minute, Peter spoke up again. "I'm taking you to the hospital. You can come willingly, or I can wait until you try to stand up again and hit your head and pass out so I can drag you there."

Neal seemed to think about that for a minute, then said "I think I'll come willingly. I don't need to add a concussion to my list of injuries."

Peter nodded in agreement. "Can you stand?" Peter asked.

"Yeah, with some help," Neal said, looking a little embarrassed.

Peter pulled Neal's arm around his shoulders and hefted him up. Neal let out a muffled cry of pain and pinched his eyes shut. As Neal stood, he favored his injured leg and Peter guessed that Neal realized there was no point in keeping up a front anymore.

Peter grabbed Neal's shirt from the counter and saw that it had a little blood on it. He handed it to over to Neal. "Do you need help putting that on?" Peter asked as he gestured to the shirt.

"No. If I can take off my pants, I can put on a shirt," Neal said and proved it by slowly putting it on, then smiled triumphantly like he just accomplished a major feat.

"I still haven't seen you do one of those," Peter commented.

"Maybe after dinner," Neal replied with another grin.

Peter put Neal's arm around his shoulder and the two men made their way out of the bathroom and to the Taurus. The whole way there they earned many concerned looks and a few people stopped and asked if they needed help, but Peter just waved them off, telling them that they were on their way to the hospital.

When they finally made it to Peter's car, both men were sweating and Neal looked like he was about to collapse. "Please get in the car before you pass out," Peter panted as he dragged his ward the last few feet and opened the passenger side of the car and deposited him in the seat.

Peter then got into his seat, started up the car, and made his way to the nearest hospital.

Neal had his eyes closed and rested his head against the window most of the ride, but Peter knew he wasn't asleep. His breathing was too fast and uneven.


	2. Chapter 2

"Neal Caffrey?" A bored sounding voice called, causing Neal to wake from his dreams that he was already forgetting.

He opened his eyes and looked around and was surprised to see that he was sitting in what appeared to be a waiting room of some sort. And judging by the little kid with a runny nose across from him and the middle-aged man holding his hand in a bloody towel sitting a few chairs to his left, he was at a hospital.

He turned to his right and was even more surprised to see Peter sitting next to him, an amused look on his face. Why was Peter here? Why was _he_ here? The last thing he remembered was sitting in Peter's car, feeling really tired, but that didn't explain why he was at a hospital. Things just weren't making any sense.

"Why are we at the hospital?" He asked because he really needed to know why he was somewhere he didn't remember getting to.

Peter looked at him with concern. "We're here to get you checked out. You don't remember?"

"Of course I remember," Neal said, probably a little too quickly. "I was making sure _you_ remembered." Neal looked over to the middle-aged nurse holding a clipboard who was waiting impatiently a few feet away. "Let's go," he said, and got up before Peter could say anything and was forced to follow.

Neal and Peter followed the nurse to an exam room and Neal sat down on the exam table as Peter took a seat in a chair against the wall.

The nurse took Neal's vitals and temperature and maybe some other things, but Neal wasn't paying very much attention. It just seemed like it would take too much effort. "The doctor will see you soon, Mr. Caffrey," she said and left.

Caffrey? Oh no, not good. Neal Caffrey was never supposed to be a name uttered within hospital walls. He always used an alias if he had to go to the hospital, which was not very often, being as the FBI had names and known aliases of criminals flagged. With that lovely fact, if you ever did go to the hospital, the first thing they would do is call the police.

But there was that one time...

Neal waited until the door shut before he turned to Peter. "You used my real name?" Neal asked, appalled by the idea.

"I think we both know that's not your real name," Peter said offhandedly, like it wasn't important.

Touché, but it's more real than any other name he'd ever had, and the FBI knew about it. "You used my _current_ name?" Neal countered.

"Yes. If you filled out your own paperwork, you could have put down Nick Halden or Steve Tabernacle, but since you were sleeping on my shoulder the whole time, Neal Caffrey is the patient's name today," Peter explained. "Wait, why is it so bad that your name is in the system?"

"Uh," Neal said with a bit of a confused look on his face. That was a good question. It didn't matter anymore now that Peter was there to make sure people didn't take him away. "I don't really have a reason," he finally said. "Not anymore, anyway. Mozzie usually just fixes me up and he would have this time too if he wasn't on some sort of mission to find where 'The Man' has had Elvis for the last forty years."

"Elvis died in '77," Peter said without much thought. Apparently he knew off the top of his head when 'The King' died.

"Mozzie thinks he was switched out by someone else in 1973 and taken to an underground bunker owned by the government that holds people they don't want anyone else to know about."

Peter looked like he was going say something, but stopped himself and just nodded instead. Some conspiracy theories just shouldn't be questioned, not if you want to keep your sanity. "Are you going to tell me what happened?" He asked after a while.

"Well, Mozzie said that 'The Man' took him for-"

"I'm not talking about Elvis, I'm talking about how you got hurt."

He got hurt? No wonder he was so sore. Now that he thought about it, his head was pounding, and his chest hurt even worse. What happened?

"I was kinda hoping you'd just drop it," Neal said, because he didn't know what else to say, and shrugged but stopped when pain shot through his upper body and caused him to wince.

"Someone attacked you, Neal. They came at you with a bat and a knife. They could have killed you. I'm not going to just let it go."

Someone attacked him? With a bat and knife? Hmm, this was getting more and more complicated by the minute.

Neal was trying to come up with something to say when the door opened and a young man in scrubs walked in and saved him from having to think. "Neal Caffery?" He asked and Neal nodded. "My name is Dr. Hayes." He held out his hand and Neal shook it. He then turned and sat down on one of those stools with wheels that doctors always have that Neal thought always looked fun. "It says here you got into a fight?"

Well, that's what Peter said so... "Yes."

"When did this happen?" The doctor asked.

Neal looked over to Peter for help, but he wasn't giving out any more information about what happened. Wait, didn't he say he didn't know? This was getting really confusing, and thinking was really starting to make his head hurt.

"What day is today?" Neal asked and both men gave him a concerned look, but Peter's was much more intense.

"What day do you think it is?" Peter asked before the doctor could tell him.

That was a hard one, but he should be able to figure it out. Well, both he and Peter were wearing suits, so it was probably a workday. The doctor seemed to be in pretty high spirits, so it's probably not the middle of the week. It could be the end and he was happy for the weekend, or it could be the beginning and he was still happy from the last weekend. And the last he remembered, it was Saturday, maybe, but that can't be right if it was a workday. Maybe there was an important case that couldn't wait until Monday.

"Neal?" Peter asked and Neal snapped out of his thoughts and looked at Peter. "What day do you think this is?"

He was going to have to take a stab in the dark. "Monday," he said with confidence he didn't feel. If it was Monday, that meant he had lost two days.

Peter nodded but didn't look too convinced. Maybe it wasn't Monday.

"What day were you attacked then?" The doctor asked again.

"Saturday." It seemed plausible being as he couldn't remember part of that day, and Peter didn't go against it either.

"Can you tell me where it hurts?"

 _That_ one he knew the answer to. "Head, chest, back and leg," Neal said.

"Can you take off your jacket and shirt, please?" Dr. Hayes said. Dr. Hayes? Was that his name? He had a name tag but it was really blurry for some reason. He should really fix that if he wanted people to know his name.

Neal focused back on the present to see that both men were looking at him. It was kinda creepy and Neal wished they would stop.

"Stop what?" The doctor asked. Wait, did he say that out loud? Oops.

"Nothing," Neal said and started taking off his jacket. Were his words slurring? The jacket was easy enough even though it really hurt to move, but the buttons on his shirt just weren't holding still and were blurring like the doctor's name tag. The buttons must have learned that from the name tag because they never did that before Neal came here.

"Neal!" Neal looked up to see that Peter was right in front of him and looked really concerned again.

"What's wrong?" Neal asked because he was starting to get concerned about Peter. Maybe that's why Peter was concerned - he was concerned for himself.

"You weren't answering me," Peter said.

Not answering? Were there more questions Neal had to answer? He hoped not because his thoughts were starting to get a little jumbled. Wait, where did the doctor go?

"He stepped out to get some help," Peter said. Did he say something out loud again? "We're going to get you patched up. Just stay awake, ok?"

Stay awake? That was a silly request. He wasn't going to fall asleep at a hospital. Wait, why was he at a hospital?

"You got hurt, apparently pretty badly," Peter said. Either Peter could read minds all of a sudden or Neal was saying more things out loud than he thought. The former seemed more likely because Neal never said things he didn't want to say.

"Yeah, you're almighty," Peter said, sounding sarcastic for some reason. Yep, he could definitely read minds.

It was suddenly really hot in there and Peter was all blurry. "You're blurry like the name tag and buttons," Neal said because Peter should know that he was blurry. Neal would want someone to tell him if he was blurry.

"I know, buddy, but the doctor is going to fix that in a minute," Peter said in what he probably thought was a calming voice, but what he said concerned Neal.

"No, the name tag made you and the buttons blurry. If he comes back, he might make it worse!" Neal didn't want Peter to be blurry. He liked un-blurry Peter. He wanted un-blurry Peter back. He needed un-blurry Peter back. It was starting to get harder and harder to breathe.

"Neal, calm down. You're going to hyperventilate," Peter said but it sounded like he was underwater which didn't make sense because they were at a hospital, not the gym. The hospital that made Neal's friend blurry. Neal didn't like this hospital, not at all. He wanted to leave, but everything that wasn't supposed to be moving was moving. This hospital was all wrong.

"Peter, I want to leave," Neal said and tried to grab Peter's shirt but it kept moving.

Peter grabbed Neal's hand and gently squeezed it. "Neal, the doctors are going to help you, so we can't leave until they do. You're going to be fine. Just calm down, ok?"

If Peter said he was going to be ok, then he was probably going to be ok. Neal nodded and tried his best to calm down.

The door opened and Dr. Blurry came in with two other people in scrubs. The room was getting really small and everyone was looking at him again. One of the scrub wearing people was holding a very big needle and started walking towards him.

"No, no, no, no. No needles!" Neal said and put his hands in front of his face to shield himself.

"Neal, the needle is going to help you," Dr. Blurry said.

A hand touched him and he whimpered and tried to move away but something large and warm stopped him. He moved his hands far enough away from his face to see it was Peter. Peter was there. Relief washed over Neal and he relaxed until he saw the scrub-wearing people again. The one with the needle was coming at him again and he grabbed onto Peter and held on hard as he could and pushed into Peter as much as he could. Peter would protect him, he always did.

"Neal, they're trying to help you. You have to let them help you," Peter whispered in Neal's ear as he rubbed soothing circles on his back.

They were trying to help? If Peter said they were then it was probably true. Neal looked up at Peter and could see that he believed his own words.

Neal slowly turned to the scrub people while still holding on to Peter and nodded. They injected him with something and everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Neal thought 'but there was that one time...' That was shameless advertisement for my other story 'It wasn't loaded!' It's Mozzie taking care of Neal instead of Peter. Check it out!


	3. Chapter 3

The first thing Neal was aware of was a warm hand on his. He opened his eyes to see that the hand belonged to Peter, who was reading a celebrity magazine.

"What is J. Lo wearing this week?" Neal asked.

Peter put down the magazine, a big smile on his face. "Some ridiculously expensive dress, I'm sure," he responded. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore," Neal said honestly. He looked around the room for a minute. "Why am I here?"

"You don't remember?" Peter asked.

Neal shook his head. "No," he said. "Did I get shot? I feel like I got shot." He looked at his chest to see himself, but he had a hospital gown on.

"You didn't get shot," Peter said, a little exasperated but mostly concerned. "You were in a fight."

"Really? What's the other guy look like?" Neal asked, amused. "Did I kick his ass?"

"Don't know. You just showed up at the office like this," Peter explained, gesturing at Neal. He looked frustrated, like he did when he couldn't crack an especially difficult case.

"How bad is it?" Neal asked, nodding vaguely at himself.

Peter sighed and leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. "Two broken ribs, a heavily bruised thigh. The cut on your side was infected and the doctors say that's why you were a little 'off.' Well, and the concussion definitely didn't help either. Turns out you did have one," Peter said, looking a little annoyed, like Neal meant to lie about having a concussion.

"Off?" Neal questioned.

"You were telling me the doctor's name tag was making me blurry," Peter explained, a small smile on his face.

"Well, you're not blurry anymore," Neal informed Peter.

"Good, I was concerned," Peter said in mock seriousness, then turned to the matter at hand. "Do you remember anything about what really happened?"

"Uh, it's all pretty blank," Neal said. He didn't even remember much of being at the office earlier in the day, but he did remember some of the conversation in the bathroom.

"Well, what's the last thing you do remember?"

"I was on a walk - in my two mile radius, of course - then I remember a knife and a bat... but that's it. Next thing I know, I'm waking up in my bed with my alarm clock going off, still wearing all my clothes."

"You didn't think that was at all odd?"

"All I was thinking was that I had to get ready for work. And that I needed a few Ibuprofen. Or maybe Vicodin."

"Why didn't you say anything to me?" Peter asked, a hint of hurt in his tone.

Neal sighed. "I don't know. I didn't know what happened, so what would I have told you?"

"I don't know, maybe 'Hey, Peter, I woke up this morning with bruises all over my body and no memory of how they got there,' " Peter said in a voice that was probably supposed to sound like Neal, but just ended up sounding like a child.

"And what would have been your first thought after I said that?" Neal asked. Peter thought about that for a second and Neal could see when he realized where Neal was going with that. "You would have thought I was doing something illegal," Neal said matter-of-factly.

"That may have been my first thought, but then I would have helped you figure out what really happened," Peter said.

"Well, it doesn't matter now anyway," Neal said.

Peter looked like he wanted to argue some more, but just nodded in agreement. "Ok, how about this: You close your eyes and focus as hard as you can to remember what happened," Peter said after a minute.

"That doesn't work as well in real life as it does on TV, Peter." Neal suddenly had a thought. "Wait, what did my anklet say?"

"It said that you left June's and walked around your radius Saturday night. You stopped at a few places, then went back to your apartment and stayed there until Monday when you went to work. Jones is checking out the spots you stopped at. He should have something soon."

Neal was about to say something else but it was lost in a long yawn.

"You should get some sleep, then we'll see what you remember," Peter said and patted Neal's knee. He pulled out his phone and started playing what sounded like Angry Birds. He looked like had no intention of leaving and Neal was secretly grateful. He could sleep peacefully knowing the he was completely safe, and he did.

WCWCWCWC

A ridiculously handsome man walked down the sidewalk, the streetlights reflecting in his beautiful blue eyes, making them sparkle like the stars that New Yorkers can't see. A dark sports jacket over a light blue button-down shirt fit his lithe but muscular frame perfectly. A warm breeze lightly tousled his dark wavy hair. It was the perfect night for a walk, so the striking young man chose not to take a cab to his destination. He could only go two miles in each direction anyway.

It was around eight at night and not the best part of town. The young man wouldn't have been there, but there was a shop he wanted to go to that was said to make the best hats in the city. He had plenty of hats that he loved, but none of them were really his; they were his landlady's.

He was almost to the store when he heard a cry for help. He immediately looked around, but no one was on the street he was on. There was another cry, but it was one of pain and he could now tell it was coming from an alley a half a block away. He approached the alley and stopped at the corner to peak around it to see what was happening.

Two large men were holding a much smaller kid against a wall. One of them had a baseball bat while the other had a knife. There was a third man in front of the smaller kid. He appeared to be searching the guy's pockets.

Now that the beautiful man saw what was happening, he had a choice to make. He could call the cops and hope they made it in time to help, or he could try to stop the attack.

Mind made up, he walked down the alley with confidence. When he got about ten feet away, all four men turned to see the newcomer.

"Get out of here if you know what's good for you!" The one in front of the guy yelled.

The handsome man was a very good con artist in another lifetime so he thought that he could use his silver tongue to convince them from hurting the guy anymore.

He raised his hands for a moment to show he meant no harm. "Hey, I'm not here to cause any trouble. I just wanted to know why you were beating up my contact."

"Contact? You a cop or something?" The one with the baseball bat asked.

The young man laughed. "Nowhere close. He's a good guy to go to for information about the area. I'm new in town and needed to know a few things about local 'goods.' "

"He owes us money and we expect him to pay," the one with the knife said.

"Will pounding him into the pavement make him pay you faster?"

"We're sending a message," the thug responded.

The young man looked past the large men to see a terrified kid, who couldn't be older than eighteen, looking a little hopeful of the new turn of events. "I think he gets the message," he said.

"How about you mind your own damn business," the mugger said.

"He is my business," he replied evenly.

"How about we send you a message," the one with the bat said threateningly.

"There's no need for that," the attractive man said confidently.

"If you don't get out of here, there will be," he said.

"I'm not going without him," the young man said, pointing at the scared kid.

"Is he really that important to you that you'd risk getting beat up for him?" He asked, not understanding the actions a person would take to stop someone from hurting another human being, no matter what they owed.

"I think we both know what you guys are capable of doing. Just let him go, and we'll all go our separate ways."

"You need to learn your place!" The thug who was looking though the guy's pockets said and took a step towards the heroic man.

The young man took an involuntary step backward - the first sign of fear he'd shown so far.

'Maybe this wasn't the best plan after all,' the striking young man thought to himself as the three muggers approached him, the kid forgotten in their anger. The kid hesitated for a second, then ran like hell in the other direction.

The three thugs didn't care, they had someone else to beat up. Unfortunately, that someone was the heroic man that just wanted to have his own hat.

The one with the bat swung at him with the sporting equipment and hit the handsome man's leg. He fell to his knees with a cry of pain and the man with the knife swung at him and cut him down his side. After that, it was a blur of fists and boots coming at him from all angles. The hat-loving man tried to protect himself, but there were too many of them and soon a boot knocked him in the head and he passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor beautiful, heroic hat loving man!
> 
> Reviews make me smile! :-)


	4. Chapter 4

Mozzie was so close! He knew where the government was keeping Elvis Presley, Michael Jackson, John F. Kennedy and many others against their will, but they must have heard that someone had figured out their location and moved elsewhere. He would have return to his dwellings and try to find where they moved to. He was going to find those people whom the corrupt government abducted one way or another, that was for sure!

But first, Mozzie wanted to see if Neal had restocked his wine collection while he was on his quest.

June wasn't home, so a maid let Mozzie into the lavish mansion and he made his way to Neal's spacious apartment. He knocked in his usual random manner and waited for his friend to open the door.

He listened for a sound, but couldn't hear any movement on the other side of the solid oak, so he knocked again. Still nothing.

It wasn't odd for Neal to be out on a late Tuesday afternoon. He was part of the establishment now – a regular nine-to-fiver. And as much as Mozzie hated to see it, the kid was out of prison, so it was better than his previous position.

Neal was used to coming home to see his friend already there, so Mozzie tried the doorknob to see if it was locked. It was not. Mozzie was going to have to talk to Neal about that. Some kook could come in and take anything they wanted.

While waiting for Neal to return, Mozzie helped himself to a lovely Burgundy Pinot Noir that wasn't there last time and contemplated the location of the underground bunker where The Man's prisoners were currently being held.

A few hours and roughly half a bottle of wine later, the sun was setting and Neal still wasn't back, so Mozzie pulled out his phone of the week and called Neal up. He wasn't worried, just curious as to where his friend had wandered off to.

Three rings later, a voice that was definitely not Neal's picked up. "Hello?" The deep voiced person said.

"Uh... Who is this?" Mozzie asked.

"Agent Reynolds. Who is this?"

A fed! Why did a fed have Neal's phone? Mozzie wanted to hang up, but he had to get to the bottom of this.

"Where is Neal?" He demanded in his most threatening voice.

"Caffrey? He and Agent Burke left a few hours ago. They said they were going to the hospital. Caffrey looked a little beat up," the agent said.

The hospital? Neal was hurt? This was even worse than he expected.

"Did they say which hospital they were going to?"

"Yeah. Mount Sinai," the strangely helpful suit said. Mozzie almost thanked him before hanging up. Almost. He wasn't crazy.

He really didn't want to enter the disease-ridden death trap most considered a health care facility, but this was for Neal, and if there was anyone who could make Mozzie do something he didn't want to do, it was Neal.

WCWCWCWC

Peter was walking back from the vending machines with a ridiculously expensive candy bar and can of soda in his hand when he saw a short, bespectacled man that looked quite familiar save for the toupee on his head. He was wearing a white lab coat and had a stethoscope around his neck. He was pretending to look intently at a clipboard while discreetly watching anyone who passed him and Peter wondered if that clipboard had Neal's information on it.

Was Mozzie really impersonating a doctor? Peter shook his head in exasperation and walked over to the 'doctor.' "What are you doing here, Mozzie?" Peter asked.

Mozzie looked up at Peter through thick-rimmed glasses. "I don't know who this 'Mozzie' person is. My name is-" he referred to his name tag on his coat to see what his name was, "Dr. Wang. Is there something you need ... Suit?"

"Are you really going to keep this up?" Peter asked, half exasperated, half annoyed.

"I don't know what you think I'm keeping up, but if I did, then yes, I am," Mozzie said.

Peter just shook his head. "I'm going to see Neal, do you want to come?" He asked.

Mozzie shifted his feet and looked around, then turned back to Peter. "Yeah, ok," he said, but then pointed a finger in the air. "But not because you invited me, but because I was going there anyway. People don't tell me where to go, I choose to go there myself."

"Yeah, whatever," Peter said and started walking towards Neal room, with Mozzie in tow.

Neal was still asleep - probably due to the medication they had him on.

Mozzie took one look at Neal - the black eye, IV in the crook of his arm, looking generally fragile in the hospital bed - and let Peter see his ire from seeing his friend hurt.

"How could you let this happen to him? You're supposed to be protecting him!" Mozzie yelled.

"I didn't let this happen. I wasn't even there," Peter defended.

"You weren't there? What happened?" Mozzie asked, a little less angry.

"Don't know. He doesn't remember," Peter said, frustrated.

"He doesn't remember?" Mozzie asked, horrified. "Was he brainwashed?"

"He wasn't brainwashed," Peter said in an exasperated tone.

"Was he hypnotized? Does he even remember his name?" Mozzie looked really worried now, but not mad at Peter anymore, so Peter supposed it was an improvement.

"No, he wasn't hypnotized either. And yes, he remembers his name, just not much of the last couple of days," Peter said.

"I knew I shouldn't have left," Mozzie said to himself, then turned to Peter again. "I'm never trusting you people to keep him safe again. I'll just have to bring him with me when I leave," he said.

"Don't even joke about that," Peter warned with a stern finger.

Mozzie was about to say something when a voice across the room spoke up. "Keep your voice down, some of us are trying to sleep." Both men turned to see two blue eyes sparkling with amusement looking back at them.

"Neal!" Mozzie said and rushed over to his friend.

"Hey, Moz," Neal said with a smile. "When did you get back?"

"A few hours ago, but that's not important; what's important is that we get you out of here before they take _all_ of your memories," Mozzie said and moved to pull out the IV in Neal's arm, but Peter stopped him with a hand on his wrist.

"Neal's not going anywhere, and this hospital didn't take his memories away," Peter told Mozzie.

"That's what they _want_ you to think," Mozzie said and reached for the IV with his other hand, but Peter grabbed that one too. "Take your hands off me, suit! I have to save Neal before it's too late."

Peter was about to say something when Neal, who had been silently watching with an amused look on his face, spoke up. "Peter, let go of Mozzie, and Mozzie, stop trying to take away my drugs."

Peter and Mozzie looked at each other, then unanimously decided to move apart and a little away from the bed. Neither man won, neither man lost - _yet_.

"Good, now that we're no longer bickering or trying to free the 'prisoner,' I can tell you that I remember what happened," Neal said as he carefully sat up more.

"Are you sure they're your memories and not artificial ones they planted in your head so it didn't look suspicious that you don't remember?" Mozzie asked, completely serious.

"I think they're mine, Moz," Neal said.

"If you say so," Mozzie said, not convinced.

"Can you just tell us what you remember?" Peter asked.

Neal nodded and recounted what he remembered about that night.

"I can't believe you did that!" was the first thing to come out of Mozzie's mouth after Neal stopped talking. "What kind of stupid thoughts were going through your head?"

"There wasn't any time, Moz. And I thought that I could talk them down." He let out a bitter laugh. "Of course that didn't work out as well as I thought it would."

"You're not invincible, Neal. Bullets don't bounce off of you, cars don't stop at your will, and you certainly can't leap buildings in a single bound! One of these days your luck is going to run out," Mozzie said.

"And you'll be there to tell me 'I told you so,' " Neal said.

Mozzie gave Neal a disturbingly serious look. "Neal, on that day, I won't want to," he said sadly.

Just then, the door opened and Jones and Diana walked in. "Hey, guys," Jones greeted.

Mozzie noticeably stiffened from having too many suits in the same room with him. He looked like he wanted to bolt, but stayed as still as he could, like he wouldn't be seen if he did so.

Neal noticed and thought Mozzie could use some air. "Mozzie, why don't you go get some coffee," he suggested.

Mozzie stared at him with an uncomprehending look on his face for several seconds, then seemed to get it. "Right, of course! I'll get some ' _coffee_ ,' " Mozzie said and tried to discreetly wink at Neal without any of the suits seeing, and failed.

"You know he's going to come back in here with some crazy plan to get you out of here, right?" Peter asked after he left.

"Yeah, I know," Neal sighed, then turned to the new arrivals. "What are you guys doing here?"

"Jones found a lead on what might have happened," Diana said.

"I actually remember a lot of it now," Neal said.

"Good, that should help," Diana said.

Jones opened up a file he had in his hands. "Well, according to your tracking data, you were on Watercrest Street for about an hour. There's nothing really on that street - it's actually more of an alley."

"We went down there and found this," Diana said and held up an evidence bag with a wallet inside.

"Was there an ID?" Peter asked.

Jones nodded. "Yep, Mathew Green, Eighteen years old. He was arrested when he was sixteen for shoplifting and again a few months ago for selling fake IDs, but since he was still seventeen at the time, he didn't get any jail time," he said.

"Do you have a picture?" Neal asked.

Diana pulled out her phone and pressed a few buttons, then handed it to Neal. Neal studied the picture for a moment. "This is him. This is the guy they were mugging," he said.

"Who was mugging?" Jones asked.

"The guys who attacked me," he said.

"Are you sure?" Peter asked.

Neal nodded. "Yeah," he said and handed Diana her phone back.

"Do you think you could sketch the guys who attacked you?" Diana asked.

Neal nodded. "Yeah, if I can get a pen and paper."

"I'm sure I could get some at the nurse's station," Diana said and left.

"And I'll go make sure the little guy isn't trying to impersonate one of the hospital staff to get ahold of drugs or something," Jones said and left as well.

Peter turned to Neal, who was picking at the tape that held the IV in his arm. "Stop picking at that," Peter scolded.

Neal looked up, picked at it one more time for spite, then stopped.

Peter walked over to one of the chairs next to the bed and sat down. "Why did you try to stop them? Why didn't you just call the cops?" he asked, referring to the thugs.

"I told you, there wasn't enough time," Neal said without looking at Peter.

"Don't give me that," Peter said. "You and I both know you abhor violence, you avoid it as best as you can, so don't tell me you went down that alley just because you didn't think there was time."

Neal sighed and relented. "Before you caught me, it wasn't always cappuccino in the clouds. I left home at eighteen with two hundred dollars to my name. I lived on the streets for a few months before I could get a job. Most people wanted someone who at least had a high school diploma, so I got passed up by a lot of people before I was hired.

"Of course, without any legal means to get money, I had to turn to some less legal ones for a while. And let's just say I pissed the wrong people off a few times."

"You got beat up," Peter needlessly clarified.

Neal nodded.

"Shoplifting, selling fake IDs. You saw some of yourself in him," Peter said.

"I don't know what you're talking about, you have no proof that I did any of those things," Neal said, probably to deflect what Peter said. "Besides, I didn't know he did any of that when I helped him."

"So why did you then?"

"There were times when I wished someone would come and stop them from beating the crap out of me." Neal shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. "I thought it would be nice if someone's prayers were answered, even if they weren't mine."

Peter nodded. "It was brave, what you did," he said after a moment. "Boneheaded and implosive and kinda stupid, but brave."

Before Neal could reply, the door opened and Mozzie came in with a gurney. He was still wearing his doctor's disguise.

"What are you doing, Haversham?" Peter asked as he got up.

"I'm doing what you should have been doing this whole time: saving him," Mozzie said as he lined the gurney up next to Neal's bed.

"I can't let you do that," Peter said as he stepped in front of Mozzie.

"If you don't want to be part of this, then I suggest you leave now," Mozzie said as he picked up a hypodermic needle and vial of who-knows-what and started filling the syringe.

"Stop, Mozzie," Peter said, then looked at the syringe the paranoid man was still holding. He wasn't sure he wanted to know, but he still asked, "What's in that?"

"If you must know, suit, it's a cocktail of drugs that will make Neal's heart rate slow down to the point of appearing to be dead," he explained calmly, like it wasn't a big deal to nearly kill his friend.

"You're not killing him!" Peter protested.

"Were you not listening to me? I'm not killing him, I'm just making it look like he's dead," Mozzie explained slowly to him like he was a child.

"Fine, you not _nearly_ killing him!"

"Maybe I should have a say in this," Neal suggested.

"Your mind has been compromised, Neal. You can't make you own decisions," Mozzie said with a clear note of sadness on his voice.

"I think it's _your_ mind that's been compromised," Peter said and tried to take the syringe from Mozzie, but he moved out of the way of his hand before he could grab it.

"Touch me again, suit, and I'll bring you up on assault charges," Mozzie warned.

Peter looked over to Neal for help. He couldn't deal with the paranoid man anymore.

"Mozzie, I'm staying here until I'm released," Neal said firmly. "And I'm definitely not letting you nearly kill me."

Mozzie looked upset by what Neal said and he looked like he wanted to protest, so Peter was surprised when he seemed to accept what Neal said. "When are you being released from this governmentally sanctioned petri dish then?"

Neal looked to Peter for the answer.

"Tomorrow, if you're good," Peter told Neal.

"Tomorrow, then," Neal said to Mozzie with a big smile on his face.

"It might be the day after," Peter said in a grim tone.


	5. Chapter 5

Neal woke to the sound of someone cursing. He opened his eyes to see Peter sitting in a chair right next to the bed Neal was in, looking angrily at his phone.

"Did the pigs win again?" Neal asked.

Peter looked up, surprised to see Neal awake. "For now," he said matter-a-factly as he put his phone away.

"So, did you get anything done besides taking down poor pigs' houses?"

"They deserve it," Peter said seriously. "But yes. We found the kid you saved from those guys."

Neal was instantly intrigued. He sat up more, ignoring the protests from his aching body.

"He didn't really want to talk to me, but after I mentioned his hero, he started talking," Peter said, pointing at Neal, and Neal didn't know if he was being sarcastic or not. "He told me that they loaned him some money so he could buy a place for a restaurant he's going to open, but he didn't give them the money back in time, so they thought it would be a good idea to beat him up."

"Did you find them?"

Peter nodded. "Yep. Turns out they frequent a certain bar. The idiots actually tried to run for it." Peter smiled at the memory. "Diana tackled one while Jones body-blocked another. The last one must have seen that there was no escape because he just gave up."

"That, or it was the death stare you were no doubt giving him that scared him into submission," Neal said, knowing exactly how scary Peter could look when he's mad.

Peter nodded. "That may have helped," he said. "Before we even separated them, they were tripping over each other for a deal - that was pretty funny."

Both men were silent for a moment, until Neal spoke up. "How long was I asleep?" It seemed like Peter had gotten a lot done while he was out.

"Um," Peter said, then looked at his watch. "About four hours."

"Wow," he said. "I guess I can't get out of here just yet then." He smiled mischievously. "Unless I take Mozzie up on his idea," he said, just to bug Peter.

"Oh no. I'm not letting that happen," Peter said. "I just got him out of here. You're just going to have to do something I've never seen you do - be patient."

"I can be patient," Neal said. "I just usually choose not to be."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Peter said.

There was another silence and Neal started to get bored. He looked at the IV in his arm and was just about to pick at it when Peter put a hand over his.

"Don't touch that," he scolded. He let go of Neal's hand and leaned back in his chair. "I knew you wouldn't be able to hold still for more than a minute."

"You said I wouldn't be able to be patient," Neal pointed out. "I was being patient, but I'm also bored."

Peter sighed, then pulled something out of a bag that was next to the chair that Neal didn't notice before. It was a portable chess set.

"You want to play chess with me?" Neal asked, skeptical.

"Yeah, why not? This way I can see firsthand if you're cheating or not." Peter put the board on a rolling table that was at the end of the bed, then rolled it up so it was hanging over the bed.

"How do you cheat in chess, Peter?"

"I don't know, you're the master - you tell me," he said, then looked at Neal with amusement in his eyes. "Wait, you're not afraid I'll win, are you?" he teased.

Neal scoffed. "Of course not," he said, then started moving the white pieces to their spots. "I call white."

Peter swatted Neal hand away. "No, it's my set, so I get to choose what color you get."

"What, are we twelve now?" Neal asked.

"I guess we are," Peter said.

Neal smiled at the memory those words brought up. It was one of their first cases together. He and Peter were after a man named Dorsett. They were watching Dorsett's girlfriend to see if the man would come by and see her, but when Neal got bored, Peter let him go talk to her and her friend. It turned out differently than Peter expected, but Neal did find the painting. It was their first stakeout, and the first time Neal got a whiff of Peter's deviled ham sandwiches.

"You're the criminal, so you get black," Peter said.

"Alleged criminal," Neal said automatically.

"You were convicted - you went to jail," Peter said.

"For bond forgery - that's a White Collar crime," Neal pointed out.

"Yes, but I'm the White Collar agent," he countered. "The one that caught you - twice, I might add."

Neal sighed. "Fine, you get white, but don't think I'll go easy on you."

Peter smiled. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

WCWCWCWC

One day and five chess games later, Neal having won four-to-one, brought Neal and Peter to the parking lot of the hospital. Neal had just been released from the hospital and he was happy to be able to get back to his own apartment with his own bed with its high thread count sheets.

Once they were out of the parking lot, Peter spoke up. "Have we learned anything from the last couple of days?" He asked.

"My two mile radius is a very dangerous place," Neal said with a serious voice, but the twinkle in his eyes showed that he was joking.

"Well, at least you learned something," Peter bantered back. "I've been waiting for this day for a long time - we should celebrate."

"Sounds good, but you're buying," Neal said. "Don't look at me like that, I only get paid seven-hundred a month, and that goes to my housing bill."

Peter sighed. "Fine, I'll pay. But we're not going to some fancy restaurant so you can jack up the bill," he said.

Neal nodded. "Okay, that seems fair. Where do you have in mind, then?"

Peter smiled. "My house," he said. "El's making those little chickens you like."

"They're called Cornish hens, Peter," Neal said.

"I know what they're called, I just like to bug you," Peter said.

"I can believe that," Neal said. "Sounds good. Was this Elizabeth's idea or yours?"

"Mine. This way I can keep an eye on you," Peter said.

"Do you really think I'm going to be going into anymore dark alleys with shady guys anytime soon?"

"One can never be too careful when it comes to you and your lack of impulse control," Peter said.

"Aw, Peter. You're worried about me," Neal said.

"That's not what I said," Peter said, shaking his head.

"I know what you said," Neal said, a knowing smirk on his face.

Peter smiled back and the rest of the ride home was made in companionable silence while the radio played a basketball game quietly in the background.

WCWCWCWC

Satchmo was at Neal and Peter's feet the moment they came through the door, wagging his tail and smiling in a way only dogs can.

"Hey, Satchmo," Neal said as he scratched behind the dogs ear.

When Neal stopped petting Satchmo to take off his jacket, Satchmo went over to his owner with renewed enthusiasm. Peter gave him a long pat before walking into the living room to find his wife, with Neal and Satchmo in tow.

Elizabeth was sitting at the dining room table with her laptop, but when she heard the two men enter she got up to greet them.

"Hi, hon. Hi, Neal," she said happily as she came up to them.

"Hey, hon," Peter said as he gave El a quick peck on the lips. "Is dinner about ready?"

"Yep, just about," Elizabeth said, then turned to Neal. "I visited you while you were in the hospital, but you were sleeping."

"Yeah, he did a lot of that," Peter commented.

Elizabeth playfully hit Peter with the towel she was holding. Peter pretended to be hurt by rubbing his arm where he was hit.

"Yeah. Sorry, El, but they kept me sedated so I wouldn't be able to resist when the doctors took my non-vital organs," Neal explained.

Elizabeth gave him a worried look, but whether it was her worrying about his lack of non-vital organs or if she thought the concussion he had was having some bad side effects was yet to be determined.

"Mozzie's words, not mine," he explained.

Elizabeth made an 'o' with her mouth and Peter shook his head.

Just then, a timer dinged in the kitchen. "Well, that'd be dinner," Elizabeth said. "You boys hungry?"

"Starved. You wouldn't believe what the hospital considers food, Elizabeth," Neal said.

"You're overreacting," Peter said. "It wasn't that bad."

"You didn't have to eat it," Neal said.

"I had an apple and it wasn't bad."

"That was the only good thing there. It's hard to mess up fruit," Neal said.

"Boys, dinner is getting cold," Elizabeth yelled from the dining room. Neither man had even seen her leave as they were too busy arguing.

"Smells delicious," Neal said as both men walked into the dining room where Elizabeth was setting the table.

The trio ate and chatted about the new venue Elizabeth was going to cater and about this week's office gossip. It was a lovely evening and Neal went home happy and full.

The bad guys were locked up and Neal was safe and well on his way to recovery. Everything seemed to be back to normal, well as normal as the young conman-turned-criminal consultant's life could be. But he knew he wouldn't change it for anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End
> 
> I'd like to thank 'Larura' once again for beta-ing my story! You've been great at getting back to me quickly, so thanks for that!
> 
> Your reviews made me smile! :-)

**Author's Note:**

> The next chapter should be posted tomorrow, so be ready!  
> Reviews make me smile!


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